


S.T.E.V.E.

by Barbaara_Babaar



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Guilt, M/M, Partying, a drunken handjob, cheating (kind of), drunken fingering???, jonathan still loves nancy though, steve is Soft, they're both drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 00:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbaara_Babaar/pseuds/Barbaara_Babaar
Summary: Jonathan didn't go into a party at Steve's house expecting to fuck The King himself, and cheat on his loving girlfriend. But his expectations have never been met anyway. It's better to just go with it, right?





	S.T.E.V.E.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't condone cheating or anything. This is from Jonathan's point of view, so you can see his drunk-ass thoughts as he cheats ;)  
> Maybe that will make it a bit better.

Around me, the air is thick and syrupy. The rainbow lights pulse with the beat of the music. In a way, it’s overstimulating, but I can’t get enough of it either. 

Because Nancy needs to babysit Holly, she wasn’t able to join me. She still encouraged me to go, even promising me a whole day with her where we could hide in the forest alone. Rarely can something get better than that. Just her and me under a canopy of life. 

I can’t help feeling lost without her anyway. Like despite being a part of one of the most tightly-packed, crowded parties I’ve ever been to, I’m separate from everyone else. 

Soon, things start turning blurry behind my eyes. Drops of color bloom across the world, branching out like roots–weaving, dipping, squeezing through everything. Something feels different, and not just because I’m zeroing in on my sixth hard drink of the night. 

My heart beats in tune with the music, which beats in tune with the flashing lights, which flash in tune with my every blink and inhale. Everyone dancing around me moves in time with the steady thump of the bass. I’m stuck in some inescapable loop. 

“Hey Jonathan!” 

I turn around two times to search for the source of the voice. Fortunately, they tap me on the shoulder before my third time around. “Let’s go to my room!” he yells over the heightening noise. 

Judging by how he hobbles up the stairs, swaying unsteadily like a bowling pin, he’s probably at least half as drunk as I am. Unlike when he’s all there, his shoulders are hunched with a lack of confidence I would never expect. It makes me want to grab them and pull them back up to their usual height. 

_ His shoulders. Steve’s shoulders.  _ Thinking about them does much more bad than good–it only results in a rush of guilt. 

_ Nancy’s still at her house, _ I think solemnly.  _ She’s missing out on this. And what am I doing? I’m checking out other people. _ At least there’s no rule about having to tell Steve anything. If I didn’t tell Nancy something like this, she’d probably get suspicious. Maybe even worried. 

“Party’s nice,” I say. I sit at the foot of his bed, on top of the wrinkled sheets. I figure I should compliment it, considering it’s at  _ his  _ house and I’m currently in his room, on his bed. He just nods, that insecure look fading slightly.

“It’s pretty good. I don’t really know why it’s happening though.” He hiccups. “There’s not much else to do, I guess. My parents weren’t home.” 

_ Stars, brighter than the artificial lights in his living room. Stars behind my eyes. Stars in my stomach.  _

“Got lonely?” 

I grin so he’s knows I’m joking. 

I stop when he says, “yeah.” 

“Don’t you have…ya’know…those  _ friends _ of yours’ to keep you company?” 

He sighs with mock exasperation, rolling his eyes. “Don’t fuckin’ remind me. Never felt friendly with them a day in my life.” 

Some people spill all their feelings out when they’re drunk. Steve Harrington is one of those people. 

To make him feel better, I list off some people he could hang out with (though it’s probably not at all helpful, seeing as my intoxicated mind doesn’t want to think too hard or it will give me a headache). I say, “You have  _ people _ , right? You have…Will’s friends-” 

“They’re kids.” He laughs. It makes me think I’m doing at least something right. 

“Tommy. That’s his name right? Tommy?” 

“An asshole.” 

“Well you’ve got that one girl, okay?” 

That makes him laugh even harder. “ _ That one girl? _ Shit Jonathan, you’re right. I’ll hang out with-” he gasps, delighted, “ _ that one girl. _ Whoever the hell she is!” 

After his laughter dies down, he sits on his bed next to me, getting a bit more comfortable than I did. He’s actually lying down and his legs are thrown every-which-way. Looking at him makes me guilty again. 

Nancy knows I like both boys and girls. She was perfectly fine with it, even more so when I told her, kissing her cheek, that it barely matters because I love her more than any other girl or boy out there. But liking someone else while we’re together? That hardly seems acceptable. Especially not when the boy putting my stomach into a salad spinner is her ex-boyfriend. 

Still, it’s as if my drunk self doesn’t want to cooperate with me today. I hear myself say, “Steve, c’mere” and–once he slumps forward into a cross-legged sitting position–kiss him, hard. Dare I say  _ passionately. _

I want to believe the alcohol is messing with my feelings, or I’m just being horny, but I don’t think the reality is as simple as that. 

“Jonathan?” 

His voice is slurred and quiet, like someone smeared it out with a butter knife. I must have really startled him, considering I kissed him out of the blue and didn’t even stop to ask if he was gay, but my hazy self can’t let me care. I wish it would. 

“What?” 

In this moment, he’s like a power drill. He’s drilling into my eyes and my face and through my chest to get to me, and yet he always comes out the other end with nothing. Maybe I should give him something. Maybe if I do, he’ll gives me something back. 

“Nevermind,” he says. He kisses me again. 

I put my hands on his face. He puts his on my back and my thigh. I can feel his fingers twitching. He’s so intoxicated, and I know it might be wrong to kiss him. I know it’s wrong anyway. Good thing I’m drunk, too. 

By the time he yanks his shirt off clumsily, going for mine, I’m up on a cloud somewhere, looking down. At Steve, at his soft chest (almost abs, but still some stomach to rub) and his messed up hair, at his  _ eyes. _ This whole time I’ve been trying to avoid his eyes, but now looking at him, I regret not doing it sooner. 

Pressing his impossibly warm chest against mine, he claws at my jeans, fumbling with them like he doesn’t remember how pants work. It’s like he doesn’t even want to fuck me–he just wants to be close to me. I can’t even feel my heart skip a beat over my overwhelming arousal. 

“Here, here,” I mumble, pushing his hands off. I unbutton my jeans myself and then his. He’s already got his hand on my dick when I’ve only just started attempting to get off his briefs in the position he’s sitting. 

“Oh my god.” I gasp, and then gasp again, and then  _ groan  _ because he’s sliding his hand across me like I’m the first boy he’s ever touched. So nervous and fast at all the wrong times. I don’t know if he’s inexperienced or too drunk to remember how to jerk someone off, but he touches me like he’s scared. “Steve,” I whisper into his mouth. “Slow down, man. Like this.” 

I run a skittish hand down between his legs and almost moan out loud from just that. He’s hard and warm and, when I rub my finger teasingly into the head, something sticky comes out in my hand. Not cum, but different. Like what I got all over my stomach when Nancy tried putting her fingers in me. 

_ Nancy. _ She’s still in my head, even though I’m figuring out how to touch another boy after only ever touching myself. She’s holding my guilt in her hands, petting it like a furry creature, not letting it come over to me. Not letting it climb into my chest. 

I love her so much. 

The next time I press my thumb into the vein on the underside of his dick, he jerks a little bit and tips his head back, as if he’s asking for me to kiss his jaw. I can feel his pulse everywhere. He’s like a beating heart in my arms. 

“ _ Jonathan _ .” 

“It’s okay.” 

“ _ Jonathan! _ ”

“It’s okay, Steve.” My arm is starting to cramp from jerking him off so hard. From the dim glow of his room lamp, I can see his dick in my hand, the tip dark and leaking like he’s feeling so impossibly good it hurts. It jerks in my hand. 

“Don’t tell me it’s okay. I know,” he says hoarsely. His teeth are clenched. He leans over to suck on my neck, like he’s making up for the dreaded time he spent in a half-submissive state. I don’t tell him that he could go back to it and I wouldn’t tell a soul. 

_ More stars, but this time in his eyes. In his moans that slip out through all the ones he holds back. In my hand as he comes, lips parted against my collarbone. Eyes fluttering. _ Nancy smiles at me, nestled behind my eyes. I listen to Steve, but focus on her. 

_ “Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan.”  _

The Steve I thought I knew would probably swear instead of saying my name. I’d hear a burst of expletives and he’d get off me afterward. I don’t think I really know  _ this  _ Steve. This Steve is melting into me, and letting me twist my fist around his softening flesh, using his cum as both lube and fuel to make him tell me to stop. 

It isn’t over, of course, until he tells me it is. 

“Ah!” 

Not quite. 

He looks at me like he’s confused, like I’m blurry. His eyes roll back slightly, and then close. He whines, spasms, stutters. Grips my shoulder. It’s as if he wants it to stop, but doesn’t have the words to get me to stop.

It’s over. He’s basically told me. 

Finally, I pull my hand off him, wiping it on his sheets. Next to me, he grunts quietly, and then puts his hand on my chest, pushing so gently I don’t know what he’s doing. 

“Lie down.” 

I do. The world moves in slow motion. Steve grabs something out of his bedside cabinet drawer and then slides a finger into me. The look on his face tells me he’s still not fully sure what he’s doing. I can’t make myself mind. 

We kiss the whole time, until my hips lift up and I come on my stomach and his hand. My head spins. We kiss again. He passes out next to me. 

 

Somehow, in the middle of the night, he managed to find is way under the covers because when I wake up, we’re sleeping next to each other in his bed. Not touching at all. Just close. 

At five in the morning, I open my eyes, groggy and disoriented, head pounding, and scramble out of his bed. I don’t remember all of what happened, but I remember  _ enough. _ And the fact that we’re sleeping in the same bed, naked, says a lot. 

Without waking him up, I get dressed and put a glass of water and two aspirin tablets on his bedside table, just to be nice.  _ Because I care about him. _ Then I leave. 

The world is still blurry, but not because I’m drunk. Because I cheated on Nancy. Because I cheated on her with  _ Steve _ of all people. Because the sole memory of how good it felt keeps me from feeling as guilty as I should be feeling. 

My mind tells my body to drive back to my house to cool off and think of a way to tell her. Instead, I drive to her house, walk up to the front door, and knock until my hand hurts. 

“I cheated on you,” I tell her the minute the door opens. 

But it’s not her.

It’s Mike. 

“You cheated on Nancy?” 

I push past him hurriedly, and keep on running until I get to Nancy’s room, which I barge on into

without knocking. She’s pulling a shirt over her bare breasts (nine times out of ten, she sleeps shirtless), tying her sweatpants, and she’s got a hair tie around her wrist. Seeing her makes me forget it all for a moment, and allows me to take a breath. 

“Jonathan? You okay? It’s early isn’t-” 

“I cheated on you.” 

“Isn’t it,” she finishes quietly. Her eyes immediately go from cheerfully surprised to shocked and betrayed. Like I slapped her. “You…you cheated on me?” 

Rusty gears are turning in her brain, I can see them. Her eyes search my face, unpeeling the bags under my eyes and sifting through the paleness in my cheeks. I wonder if she can see how scared I am. 

I say, “yeah. With…” 

Saying I cheated on her apparently isn’t the hardest part here; it’s telling her who I cheated with. 

Steve. Steve Harrington. Saying his name in my head only brings back more bits and pieces of last night that I tell myself I should regret. I shouldn’t feel hot at the thought of him leaning over me, kissing me, fingers in my ass, or him bowing his head down onto my shoulder from how much he was feeling. 

She approaches me. Silent, carefully, like a deer. Her lips purse for a second like they always do when she’s thinking really hard and then she asks, staring into my brain through my eyes, “Who?” 

Not like she’s mad at me. Not like she wants to break a plate over my head or decapitate me. Just like she wants to know. I can barely believe it. The fact that she doesn’t look shocked and betrayed anymore, but instead watchful and concerned, confuses me to no end. I have no idea why she isn’t scolding me yet. 

When I don’t say anything, she says, “spell her name.”

I say nothing. My heart beats loud in my ears. I might vomit. 

“Spell  _ his  _ name.” 

“S.” It feels soft in my mouth, like someone shoved cotton balls down my throat. I think _ she _ did. “T. E. V. E.” 

Her tensed shoulders droop, her hands dropping with them, and “watchful” turns to “understanding” before my very eyes. “Steve Harrington,” she says, so quietly the only reason I hear it is because I can see her lips moving. “At the party last night, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Were you drunk?” 

I nod. 

“Was  _ he? _ ” 

I nod again. 

Nancy walks to her bed and sits down, eyeing me like I should probably be following her, so I do. My heart still won’t calm down, but I’m not as nervous as I was before. I am, however, completely and utterly confused. 

She says my name quietly to get me to look at her. Her eyes are gentle. “If you wanted to experiment with someone–a boy,  _ Steve _ –you could have told me. I can’t give you everything right?” She smiles. “I won’t be mad if you tell me.” 

I swear I almost cry. If I was with anyone else and this happened, they would have dumped me right then and there, but instead I have Nancy. The most understanding person I could have hoped for. 

As my heartbeat slows, I lean over to kiss her, and I do cry this time. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I was drunk and I didn’t know what I was doing. I never stopped thinking of you the whole time.” 

“I know. It’s okay.” 

Ten minutes pass and I stay in her arms, still confused but also so, so relieved. So in love with Nancy it hurts. I have to stop myself from crying again. 

Then she says, out of the blue, staring at the ceiling, “you know, I see why you wanted him.” I feel her lips on my jaw. “I would have, too.” 

_ What?  _

Eyes wide, I stare at her in wonder and affection. “You like him?” I ask excitedly. “You- you-” 

“I’m gonna apologize to him at school, for…how it ended between us. Give him the closure. He probably needs it.” 

 

The next day after school, I see Nancy wrapping her thin, porcelain arms around Steven Harrington, and I don’t say a thing. 

**Author's Note:**

> "this is the 1st nsfw ive written lol uwu"  
> just kidding. it's not the first, or the best. maybe they aren't really in character. you decide.


End file.
